


What's right in front of you

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Conspiracy cork boards, Daisy on the Run, F/M, Fluff, Important realizations, Mack and Coulson are partners, Phil is kind of a mess, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what’s changed?”<br/>Phil considered the question, unpinning one of the more earlier photos he’d added in the past few months. He’d been looking at it, like he had so many times before without anything life-altering happening to him. He knew it by heart even. The big sunglasses shielding her face. A few wisps of hair sneaking out of her hooded rain coat revealing the length and color.<br/>“Nothing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's right in front of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> For Becketted, who wanted "the exact moment Coulson realized he was hopelessly in love with Daisy Johnson."

“Oh, no.”

 

“Everything okay, Coulson?” Phil looked over to the corner of the room where Mack sat, looking at him curiously. He’d forgotten he was there.

“Yeah,” Phil said vaguely, his eyes drifting back to the pin board in front of him. The evidence on it was pretty damning.

_This complicates things._

“You’ve been staring at that thing for a while now and just said ‘oh no.’ So, forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Mack answered, walking over to where Coulson sat cross legged on the hotel bed. If dignity was something he was still worried about he might feel self conscious, but…

Crossing his arms Mack looked at the large display leaning back against the headboard. For the first time in a long time, long after ceasing to worry about what people thought of his hopeless search, he wanted to cover it. To shield Mack’s eyes so he wouldn’t see what had just become abundantly clear.

“Did you add something new?” Mack asked, the ever-familiar concerned wrinkle forming between his brows. Phil wasn’t a teeny bit resentful that the man--not _that_ much younger than himself, not really-- didn’t look as worse for the wear as he did. Not that he wanted Mack to be in a bad enough state for it to affect him physically, but walking into meetings or going on missions together only made the contrast more apparent.

Phil looked like shit.

“No,” he said, the truth. He hadn’t added or taken away anything, it was all just...there. Maybe the whole time.

Maybe even before.

“So what’s changed?”

Phil considered the question, unpinning one of the earlier photos he’d added in the past few months. He’d been looking at it, like he had so many times before without anything life-altering happening to him. He knew it by heart even. The big sunglasses shielding her face. A few wisps of hair sneaking out of her hooded rain coat revealing the current (at that time) length and color. She was holding something in her right hand the lab had identified as either a weapon or compact umbrella (very helpful, as usual,) and in her left she held a newspaper.

“Nothing,” he said, being honest. Nothing had changed, but at the same time so had everything. He had been looking at the same board, the same photos, maps and headlines he’d been looking at for months.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m worried about her,” Phil said, and Mack made a little exasperated noise.

“We’re both worried about her,” he said, but Coulson shook his head.

“Mack, look at this.” He gestured helplessly at the mass of evidence had hadn’t even realized he’d been collecting.

Mack took a closer look. “Do you think you have something that could exonerate her?” Phil shook his head, and Mack sighed. “What are you seeing here that I’m not?”

How could he not? It was so obvious now. Coulson carefully pinned the photo in its original place, tracing along the edge of it with his finger. He’d started all of this to find her, to make it right, but at some point in the last year it had gone off the rails. Coulson wasn’t sure if he should be happy with himself for finally putting it together or ashamed that it happened in the first place. Following along the photos and clippings, he almost wanted to laugh. It was so _obvious._

“What are we doing here?” He asked, standing up from the bed and walking over to the mini-fridge. Mack eyed him warily, so Phil made a point to wave at him the sparkling water he’d grabbed.

“Finding Daisy,” Mack said.

“Is that it?” Coulson moved next to him, and they both stared at the board. Phil had seen Daisy’s van way back when, but Mack hadn’t. It was fascinating, he had to admit to taking a longer look before it was sent off to the SHIELD garage, never to be seen again. The organization looked scattered, but it was meticulous. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. She was on a mission. It was made for planning, plotting, figuring things out.

Not for staring at for days at a time.

She'd tacked up photos of potential gifteds and SHIELD personnel to track down, find patterns.

Not just to scrounge together any precious glimpses of their faces she could find.

She tracked down leads, marked where they’d been.

His board showed where she’d been, sure, but also where he thought she might go, where her heart would take her.

The emails were the most damning, he didn’t think Daisy had anything resembling those. Just one or two sentences each, whatever he could get from the handful of people he could get to talk to him about their run-ins with her.

_“She didn’t say much, but she bought my son a milkshake while they waited in a safe place for me to pick him up.”_

Nondescript sheets of paper, with just one or two lines of highlighted text. Text that contributed nothing at all to the investigation, but sometimes felt like the most significant documents on the board.

_“After she scared the Watchdogs away, she looked so angry I thought she was going to attack me next. Then she asked if my apartment had a shower because she thought she stunk.”_

Sprinkled among the photos and the official updates and the location predictions based just on what he knew about her, were these little snapshots of her life these days through the lenses of those she was helping.

_“She told my kids that Mommy was still the same, and not to be afraid. That I just had ‘a little something extra.’ Just like her.”_

It wasn’t an investigation, it was a love letter. The whole thing.

How could he claim to be tracking her down when all that really mattered was who she was, how she was feeling. How other people, those not on the payroll to hunt her down and broadcast her to the public as a menace, saw her.

Anything he could snap up to convince himself he would see her again.

He loved her, he always knew that. From the moment she stood in front of him in the hub, questioning SHIELD’s secretive nature months before the word “HYDRA” ever crossed their minds. He knew that there was _something_ there, but what it could be never really mattered. If he was really pressed on it, which he never was, he knew what it could never be--what he would never tell anyone he’d thought about in fleeting moments. And he always knew what it was supposed to be, what everyone seemed to assume so quickly he began to believe it. (Enough that he’d opened his fat mouth just days before she walked out.) But what did he really want?

_Well, I think I have an idea now._

“Sir?” He looked over at Mack, who rolled his eyes slightly. “Coulson. I think I know what you’re getting at here.”

“Do you?” Phil asked, sipping his water and wishing it was scotch. If he ever actually needed a drink, this would be the night, wouldn’t it?

“I dated a scrapbooker once,” Mack said, walking over to the chair by the window and sitting down. He looked up at the wall next to him, where another, smaller board hung. Watching Mack glance over it, Phil felt a bit naked, to be honest. “And I’m with a conspiracy theorist these days, but you knew that.”

Did he ever.

“My old girlfriend, she used to make scrapbooks for everything. Graduations, birthdays, weddings.” Coulson raised an eyebrow, and Mack shook his head. “So do you want to tell me what this is? And if maybe I should be looking for leads elsewhere?”

Looking back at the photo he’d grabbed earlier, Phil moved closer. Plucking it from the board, he looked at the back where he’d written the date. He spent all this time trying to get into Daisy’s head, understand what she was thinking, had he finally reached some level of clarity?

“September third,” he said, stepping back and looking at Mack. “What was in the news September third?”

The other man looked at him like he wasn’t making any sense, which was fair given the circumstances. But he had an idea.

And a lot to discuss.

***

“I heard you were looking for me.”

Coulson turned his head, looking back at the now-open door of the van.

“Hey. What u--”

“Don’t start,” Daisy said, hopping in and sliding the door shut behind her. Sitting on a crate next to him, she crossed her arms. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions but I don’t know how long until they follow you here, so can we make this quick?”

She was stern, rightly so, but he could see the apologetic look in her eyes. God, it had been so long since he’d actually seen them.

“Quick, yeah,” he agreed, almost not sure where to begin. Instead, he turned back to look at the walls of her van, and Daisy’s eyes followed.

“I don’t--” Her mouth snapped shut, and she squirmed in her seat a bit. “This isn’t--”

“I was wondering why you would possibly need a hard copy of a newspaper instead of just catching up online, since you’re well aware we can’t track your Internet activity. But I just assumed it was because of something you were investigating,” he said, pulling out the photo. “You always liked putting these together.”

He handed her the picture, and she immediately turned it over to the back.

“I checked the news from that date,” Phil said, before reaching up and pointing at a slightly yellowed clipping on the wall of the van. “I was brought in for questioning the day before, and someone in DC seemed to pick up on the fact that a dead guy was about to be indicted.”

Grimacing a bit, he looked at the picture. Of course, the first time he gets his photo on the front page, he looks like _that_.

May had mailed him the piece herself. With a well-intentioned yet no-nonsense note that simply said “ _Pull yourself together. --MM._ ” He kept both in a folder somewhere after the whole matter was settled.

“They were questioning you because of your ties to me, I wanted to make sure nothing got out,” she said, pursing her lips.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “There was nothing to get out, I didn’t know a thing. Back then.”

“What do you know now?”

Maybe she was asking whether or not he knew her aliases, or who her contacts were, or what she was working on. But those were the last thing on his mind.

“I know that this picture of me in Bogotá was when I was working on another mission,” he said, pointing to the shot of him standing in line for tamales. “And I know it’s from Yo Yo’s camera.”

“She sent me photos of a bunch of you,” Daisy said defensively. And Coulson was sure that was true. There were lots of other photos, to be fair. Clear candid shots of people he assumed were Inhumans or those looking to find them. Mugshots from various Watchdogs, maps with stars and circles and printed out passages from articles and legal documents she’d illegally obtained.

But he knew what to look for now. The photos, the emails, the scribbled addresses and dates he knew to be familiar. The online listings for people selling vintage (stolen) red cars for astronomical prices. He knew it was different. And judging from the caught look on her face, she probably did too.

“I miss you, okay?” She said, turning to face him. “And yeah, I wanted to make sure everything was alright and you weren’t, I don’t know, getting imprisoned or framed or depressed or whatever. But I’m not coming back, I still have a lot to do on my own. And this is probably creepy to you, but--”

“You have no idea,” Phil said, picturing his own boards and walls and the alarming amount of time it took him to realize what they meant. If she was creepy, he was a different breed entirely. “I understand,” he said instead, realizing how little time they had. “Why you need to stay out, and--” he gestured to the wall.

“You understand,” Daisy repeated cautiously. “Because when I left--”

Not wanting to hear her finish that thought, recall his mistake, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, making it clear how much he understood now. Daisy’s shoulders stiffened but she didn’t reject him, just waited for him to pull back. He did, watching her carefully.

“Was that-- is that okay?”

Daisy stared at him, giving Phil a moment to distract himself from the suspense by taking in her look these days. It was a good one, obviously. He wasn’t sure there was a bad look for Daisy, and honestly even if this wasn’t what she was looking for it was just so freeing being able to acknowledge that. She was  _beautiful._ Always had been.

“Yes. I mean, no,” she said, shaking her head. Phil nodded, looking at the door. “I mean, you have to go. Wait!” She nearly shouted, exasperated. “That’s not--you don’t have to go because it was bad. I mean, it _wasn’t_ bad. I-- it’s only bad that you have to go. Because after that I kind of want you to stay.”

Daisy looked at him, slightly embarrassed but hopeful, and Phil took a moment to try to process the flood of words he’d just heard.

“Just--” Daisy grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close, kissing him this time. The cool that Coulson had somehow been able to maintain so far was rapidly deteriorating. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a _year,_ and now it had been two minutes and they were making out in a van. There were so many things he needed to tell her, and ask her, but also he never wanted to stop feeling her fingernails scrape against his scalp, her slightly chapped lips against his, her _teeth_ \--

“Okay, okay,” Daisy said breathlessly, pulling back and pressing her hands against his chest. “Quick, remember? This was supposed to be quick.”

“If I’d known earlier…” he began, but Daisy shook her head, a sad smile on her face.

“Don’t do that. We had a lot of time together, but not exactly the time to think about these kinds of things.”

They both went quiet for a moment, thinking about all that had happened in their time together, how much of it was spent on other matters and people. And how that ended up.

“I can’t go that long without seeing you again,” Phil said, too desperate for his own liking. “I mean, I can. I will, if I have to. But I would, you know, prefer not to.”

The corners of Daisy’s lips turned up in an amused smile. “Yeah, me too,” she said. She groaned leaning back against the wall of the van, her hair shifting some of the papers. “Nothing about this is ever going to be easy, is it?”

Coulson shrugged. “Probably not.”

“But we’ll figure it out?” She asked, and Coulson nodded. “Good,” she sighed, bringing a hand up to his hair and combing through it again. Less urgent this time. He could feel the ‘goodbye’ in it. “You can keep your shrine to me up though, in case we don’t see each other for a while.”

At her smile, Phil felt his face heat up. “It’s not a _shrine_ ,” he scoffed, but Daisy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s...I didn’t realize,” Coulson said, and her eyes softened a bit. “It’s probably overkill,” he admitted, kissing her cheek and lingering in a way that was more about his newfound freedom to be that close to her than initiating anything else.

“Maybe a little bit,” Daisy joked, laughing quietly by his ear. “It really didn’t seem unusual to you?”

Phil shrugged. “Not to me,” he admitted, finally pulling away despite knowing it meant he would have to leave.

Daisy nodded, holding his hand as he stood up and opened the door. Her grip was loose, and she let it slip free as he stepped out of the van. He took one last look at her, one he couldn’t take back with him and put on his wall. But that was okay. He wasn’t sure he needed that anymore.


End file.
